Legacy
by Divine Sally Bowles
Summary: 6x24-set. Peyton has collapsed and her life hangs in the balance. Faced with a possible tragedy and having to parent their daughter alone, Lucas' only hope is that Peyton will live to stay by his side.


**A/N - Hi, everyone! I'm Sally and some of you reading this might know me from the Naley fics I've posted here the past few weeks. I'm a very new writer of OTH fic, and I'm experimenting with my favorite couples (Naley, Leyton, and Brulian) and different story types (fluff, angst, smut). This is an idea that's been in my head for a while-Lucas' thoughts as he drives Peyton to the hospital in 6x24, and the span of time he had to spend parenting Sawyer on his own. It will mainly be angsty! It will be at least a few chapters long; how many, I don't yet know.**

**This is my first time writing a Leyton fic, and my fourth foray into OTH fic in general, so please feel free to make any suggestions for improvements or correct any continuity mistakes I might have made. I'd really appreciate reviews, and if you guys like this, my Naley fics can be found on my profile!**

**Again, please review and I hope you all enjoy!**

**_"So what will your legacy be?"_**

**- "War Sweater"  
Wakey!Wakey!_  
_**

* * *

Legacy

I.

Blood

His mind is on anything but the road as he drives to the hospital, ignoring all speed limits and rules of safe driving. He has been to this hospital so many times, for so many different people, that he no longer needs to think of the way there. All he can think of, the only thought his mind has seized on, is that he, Lucas Scott, the ultimate lover of literature, the novelist, is now the subject of dramatic irony.

To him, it seems like a sick joke. Peyton is lying across the backseat, unconscious, her breathing shallow, her wedding gown covered with blood, slowly spreading in patches of crimson on the skirt. The blood seeps into the upholstery just as it did into the carpet that day in the library, soaking her jeans and the soles of her shoes.

_There is blood on the floor. Blood, shattered glass, abandoned bookbags and notebooks—these were the signs of a place in chaos. He has seen the school in disorder before, had seen litter, confetti, banners and signs strewn about the hallways after a victorious home game. But he has never seen things like this._

_He watches Nathan walk away, having faith in his brother's ability to find Haley and protect her. Haley is his best friend, and he is just as concerned as Nathan is for her safety, but he cannot shake the nagging, sickening feeling that something has happened to Peyton. He backs into the door, edging slowly towards the library. Outside the doors is more blood, staining the floor in patches. He creeps into the library, surveying it from the balcony—nothing. The silence roars in his ears as adrenaline floods his system, making his heart beat harder and his palms sweat, causing him to tighten his grip on the bat so he will not drop it. She has to be here._

_He moves slower, creeping closer to the bookshelves. He swings around one, about to hit out, when he hears a muffled sob. The sound wrenches his heart as he recognizes the person who made it. Peyton is sitting on the floor, leaning heavily against a bookshelf, and she lets out another sob as she takes him in._

_Relief surges through him at the sight of her, though it is short-lived as he puts together the pieces—the blood he saw in the hallway can only be from her. He drops to his knees, touching her lightly. "Peyton! Hey, hey, it's me…"_

_She winces and keeps crying as she tries to speak. "Ow, my leg! I got cut by some glass…"_

_He tries not to think of the alternative—that the person supposedly had a gun, that it could be more than just glass. He will not allow himself to think of it, only focusing on the fact that he has found her and needs to get her out._

"_Lucas, I lost Brooke! I'm sorry…"_

_He can't help but feel some kind of amazement at that—even with the pain she must be in, even with the danger of the situation, her first thought is still Brooke, her best friend. At least he knows that Brooke is safe and doesn't have to lie to her. "Shh, shh… she's fine. She's fine, but… you're not. We've gotta get you somewhere safe. C'mon…"_

_He tries to help her up, but she sobs harder and manages to get out, "No, I can't, I can't walk! I tried…"_

"_Okay, okay…" He is thinking frantically, not knowing what he can do. How can he keep her safe if he can't get her out of here? He thinks of the words he said to Nathan just a few minutes earlier—"You gonna stop a bullet with a baseball bat?" There is no place safe, nowhere to hide in a room with doors that don't lock and a girl bleeding on the floor, unable to move._

_He gets up, but Peyton grabs his hand, her grasp surprisingly strong for someone in her state. She sounds desperate as she chokes out, "No, don't leave me! Please! Please!"_

_He cups her cheek, touching his forehead to hers. "Peyton, I'm gonna go block the entrance, all right? We'll… we'll just hide, all right? We'll wait this out, okay?... Listen to me. I'm not leaving you, Peyton. I won't. I won't."_

It is ironic to him that this day so closely mirrors that one. The blood on the flower petals, just as there had been blood in the hallway. Finding her lying there, bleeding, helpless. Carrying her to the car just as he had carried her out of the school, hoping now, as he had then, that she won't die.

It is ironic to him that he promised not to leave her that day. Isn't that essentially the promise she had made him a few hours earlier? _"You deserve to be adored. So that's what we're gonna do, your baby and me… we are gonna adore you for years to come. I am so terribly in love with you and I always will be."_

_Always_ apparently had to last for so short a time. _Always _could be coming to an end, and he found himself desperately hoping it wouldn't, found himself recalling endlessly the words he'd cried out upon finding her on the floor. _"Peyton! Stay with me! PEYTON!"_

He does not pay attention to where he parks the car or whether or not he even bothers to lock it. Instead, his mind is on the details he needs to remember, the details he knows he will focus on should this become their last day. She feels so fragile in his arms, her frame so small still, despite the pregnancy. The blood from her dress is soaking his shirt, and her skin feels hot against his, her chest rising and falling with those same shallow breaths. Is it his imagination, or is she getting weaker?

He does not want to let her go. He is holding onto her with all he has, his mind racing with the thought that she cannot die, their baby cannot die, she needs to live. The world would not be so unfair as to take her away from him—he has almost lost her once. He can't lose her for good.

He lets her go only under duress, as the paramedics come swarming in to take her from him. He lets her go, leaning in as he does and pressing a kiss desperately to the base of her throat, watching as they take her and wheel her away. He stands there, watching the glass doors slam shut behind them, his white shirt stained with blood and his hands empty but for his wedding band. _In sickness and in health, to have and to hold_.

Only a few hours earlier they had made those vows. He can only hope that she will live to fulfill them.


End file.
